


the fall (and its after)

by renjunarc



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Mental Health Issues, Self-Harm, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 02:43:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renjunarc/pseuds/renjunarc
Summary: when he finally hits the bottom, the air in his lungs escapes rapidly through his throat and he finally exhales. he feels the pain pass through his flesh, rattle his bones, and then nothing.or: jisung dies.(REPOST.)





	the fall (and its after)

**Author's Note:**

> lmao 
> 
> i deleted all of my fics off of ao3 on impulse.  
> i ended up editing + adding more things to this fic to repost bc this one resonates strongly with me. so hey!! to all the people who might remember the first time i posted this fic and are just :HAhaa: when they see it again. welcome back to my Terrible Writing.  
> as a depressed and passively suicidal boy, there are a lot of my projected feelings onto jisung in this fic. u_u please don't be too sad.
> 
> warnings: suicide, self harm, depression, etc.

when jisung steps off the high school rooftop, his mind flashes with faces of every person who has shown him something that resembled kindness and love.  
  
when the wind combs through his hair and ruffles his clothes, he swears he’s flying in midair. it’s heart-pounding and exhilarating almost. it makes his heart in his chest hurt.  
  
when he finally hits the bottom, the air in his lungs escapes rapidly through his throat and he finally exhales. he feels the pain pass through his flesh, rattle his bones, and then nothing.  
  
he closes his eyes.  
  
when he falls, all of those faces are in different places. only a few blocks from the high school, chan picks up woojin for the date they agreed to have a week ago.  
  
on the busy road, minho and felix take a bus to their reserved dance studio to practice for their next showcase.  
  
at the school library, hyunjin and changbin snort over ugly comic books while seungmin rolls his eyes in fond amusement beside them, diligently doing his trigonometry homework.  
  
and as jeongin exits the school building after a long tutor session with his english teacher, he looks up from his bag in time to watch jisung’s body slam against the pavement right before his eyes.

  


jeongin doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting there on the ground, hunched over and cradling jisung’s mangled body on his lap with hot tears raining from his face.

jisung has always liked it when jeongin did this. once upon a time, when they were younger and not particularly bothered by the harsh truths of reality, jisung found solace on jeongin’s lap. when his eyes would glaze over with a layer of melancholy or his shoulders fell from the overwhelming pressures of responsibility, jeongin would free his lap for the other to nap on. but once high school started for both of them, jeongin grew distant from the other and rejected jisung’s clingy affections in fear of judging eyes.

(of course he wouldn’t have noticed the man-eating monster called _depression_ gnawing incessantly at jisung, consuming his mental strength and rationality until his foot stepped off the rooftop. not with the distance he placed between the two of them.

it’s guilt.

it’s guilt he feels.

he should have never--)

“hyung, _wake up_. wake up, hyung,” jeongin whispers, rocking his body frantically, “you’ve got to wake up, jisung hyung. this isn’t funny anymore--”

jisung’s eyes don’t open. his body is cold, but the crimson blood that leaks from his body is warm and viscous. it dirties his hands, shirt sleeves and the fabric of his jeans -- nothing could ever wash away these putrid stains.

at some point, he hears the sound of sirens and smell of rubber as vehicles roll into the scene as quickly as possible. police block off the area with yellow warning tape and emts exit the ambulance with a stretcher. someone pulls him away from jisung from behind and he’s kicking and screaming ‘ _let go let go let go let--_ ’  
  
_he’s just sleeping_ , he tells himself when they cover his body with a white tarp and drop him on a stretcher to lift.  
  
_he’s just sleeping_ , he tells himself when he finds his body being gathered in hyunjin’s arms.

 _he’s just sleeping_ , he tells himself when changbin tells him to look away from the red and blue flashing lights.  
  
“he’s just sleeping. wh-why are they covering him up? he’s not dead, h-he’s just … he’s sleeping ...” he says aloud, voice quiet and muffled against hyunjin’s arms.  
  
seungmin looks down at him with tearful eyes and flushed cheeks. he inhales a stuttering breath and reaches out to cradle the youngest’s face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together. from the corner of his eyes, he sees changbin obscuring his face with his hands. hyunjin breathes shakily and trembles behind him.  
  
he wants to tell them that he’s fine. _jisung is fine_ , he’s sleeping!

but he finds himself tongue tied and unable to speak. so he simply stands there with his arms stiff at his sides, his friends hiding their faces, and seungmin bawling against him.

  
  
school isn’t cancelled. but instead of fourth period, the faculty holds an assembly for han jisung in the gym stadium. rather than cherishing his memory, they use him as an example -- a martyr for whatever ridiculous cause.  
  
in the middle of the assembly, chan stands abruptly from his seat on the bleachers and travels down the steps with his head hung low. none of the teachers make a move to stop him. their eyes only flicker his way before resuming their supervision of the presentation as he escapes to the gym foyer. within the next twenty minutes, seven other boys stand up to follow and leave the gym.  
  
on each of their faces, tears streak their cheeks and eyes distant.  
  
  
  
_“i’m tired, hyung,” jisung says, cheek squished against his pillow and eyes fixated on that one spot of discoloration on chan’s wall._ __  
__  
_just for the night, jisung is sleeping over at the older boy’s place because he’s his neighbor that also attends his high school. and because his parents can’t just get along and stop fighting. (he can only vaguely remember what they were arguing about this time; he was already packing his stuff and bolting out of the front door before the first plate crashed.)_ __  
__  
_from on top of the bed, chan glances down at him from the corner of his eyes, feeling a vague sense of concern stir within him._ __  
__  
he’s been saying that a lot lately _, chan thinks,_ he’s been pretty down and out of energy. __  
__  
_(_ it’s not like him, _chan would realize later.)_ __  
__  
_despite the initial concern he feels, he tells himself that maybe he’s simply stressed out with balancing between his troublesome home life with his overwhelming academics. so his fingers don’t let up from pounding on the keyboard of his laptop; he doesn’t stop to check if jisung is alright where he is on his bedroom floor._ __  
__  
_“why don’t you just go to sleep then? new day tomorrow, jisung,” chan suggests lightly, slamming his index finger a little too hard on the enter key to create a new line in his essay._ __  
__  
_“that’s not what i meant,” jisung whispers, voice muffled against the fabric of the pillow and expression scrunched like he’s about to cry. (he is.) because of how quietly he says it, chan doesn’t hear him over the sound of his clicking keyboard._ __  
  
_sighing, jisung adjusts his bangs over his face and pulls the covers over his body, mumbling ‘goodnight’ into the suffocating air._

 

(one would think that chan would have noticed the signs earlier, especially with his experience with the illness.

one would think that the boy would have made sure to stop what didn’t have to happen.

the only thing he can say now is, “ _i’m sorry that i didn’t._ ”)

  
  
woojin doesn’t come to school for a week.  
  
chan visits him at his apartment. he isn’t too surprised when he sees the place littered with detestable takeout and trash everywhere (because when you’re in mourning, you don’t really care about that kind of stuff). neither is he surprised when he discovers woojin curled up in bed, covers tightly cocooning around his body.  
  
chan anticipated this kind of behavior from the older male. woojin always felt strongly and emotionally whether the subject involved him or not. after losing a good friend to the cold hands of death, it’d be only natural for him to fall into a tearful depression. if chan wasn’t a responsible figure to all of his friends, he would be like woojin, nestled in bed and ignorant like the earth rotating with them on it.  
  
chan lies down beside the boy, staring up at the ceiling rather than the back of his head. beside him, woojin burrows deeper into his blanket cocoon until only a few tufts of hair peeks out from on top.  
  
chan doesn’t think the other needs a comforting hug, he just needs to know someone is there with him.

  
  
  
nobody attends the funeral.  
  
(however, in the parking lot of the graveyard site, minho wails in the driver seat of his car with his forehead pressed against the steering wheel. he grits his teeth and feels the fresh hot tears run down his cheeks, the liquid burning itself into his skin.  
  
this morning, he managed to get out of bed and adorn his body with the overly fancy suit he bought for last year’s school prom. the one he bought to match with jisung. he managed to drive himself to the funeral site without careening into a tree as an act of impulse. through the drive, he prepared himself so he could stare down at jisung’s peaceful face when he would carry out his speech and watch with forlorn as his friend’s body lower into the cold hard ground.  
  
but when he parked, he realized he’s not ready to look at death in the eye. he’s not ready to accept what has been done, what his friend has done.  
  
what he actually is, is that he is tired. he wants to return home and cry and mourn and pretend like the world isn’t against him or his friends. he wants to pretend like his good friend did not just willingly step off the roof of his high school, knowing full well that death was waiting at the bottom with arms outstretched to catch him.  
  
he wants to forget that smiling face, that boisterous laughter, that voice that calls his name in excitement.  
  
he wants to get rid of it all.  
  
and an hour after the funeral ends and people file out of the graveyard with somber expressions written on their facials, he takes the car out of park and drives home.)

  


_“where to?” minho inquires jisung as the boy rushes to climb into the passenger seat and put on his seatbelt._

_“anywhere but here,” jisung answers breathlessly._

_minho hums._

_he barely waits for the younger boy to shut the car door before he’s pumping the gas out of the boy’s driveway and out of the neighborhood._

_the younger is jittery in the seat and stares worriedly out the window, but doesn’t say anything to initiate conversation otherwise._

_minho chooses not to pry towards the reason jisung is frantic and insistent of leaving the house at the ungodly hour of 1:02am. he doesn’t question why he heard banshee screaming from the boy’s house, or the sound of glass shattering against the floor before he backed out. he says nothing when he briefly spots red lines decorating jisung’s pale skin as pulls the car into an empty highway, pushing back the suggestion of calling a hotline._

_maybe he should have._  


 

all jeongin recalls is the vivid splat when jisung’s body made contact with the ground. the image of blood splatter and a mangled body is imprinted in his brain, on each single reproducing cell.  
  
jisung fell from the sky  — the roof — and on the ground right in front of him. with how many times jisung joked about being a ninja in the past after surprising him from behind, he would have thought the older boy would have landed gracefully on his feet than on his face.  
  
he hoped he would.  
  
he wished he would.  
  
but he didn’t.  
  
so jeongin is stuck with the trauma of watching one of his best friends step off the rooftop and to his death. every so often he’ll feel his hands tingle and his legs go numb as a reminder of where his body’s been.  
  
he is stuck with the memory of a mangled body — limbs bent in broken angles and blood seeping from every open injury and wound. instead of his bright smile and wide eyes, he recalls a twisted neck and empty eyes. he is stuck with the _splat!_ and _crack!_ noise jisung’s body made when he hit the ground, playing over and over like a broken record.

  
  
woojin still finds himself cooking jisung’s favorite dinner now and then.  
  
it’s an accident, really.  
  
just like how he grabs nine plates or nine chairs for eight people. it’s also like how he thinks about how jisung would love it if he gave this and that to him. and how he sometimes slips up when talking to the others about how jisung would feel. it all shatters and everything falls back to its broken place when reality serves him the cruel reminder that a boy named han jisung doesn’t live among them anymore.

  
  
  
seungmin is the first one to visit jisung’s grave days after the funeral.  
  
with eyes raw but long dried from tears, he stares vapidly at the smoothly crafted gravestone -- engraved han jisung above the years he lived and a half-hearted quote of “an boy loved by all rests here.” something terrible stirs inside of him, something akin to sadness and agony, but the overwhelming emptiness that fills him after periods of crying and mourning quells it.  
  
his eyes drop to the numerous bouquets of colorful flowers with rest in peace cards attached to their wrappings and the unlit wax candles that have long melted into the rock underneath. the gifts and offerings adoring the grave are pretty, gorgeous.

he thinks it’s an eyesore. it’s ugly because he bets that majority of the gifts besieging the tombstone are from people who _never cared_ or could _care less_ . he wouldn’t be surprised if the people who laid down the gifts didn’t even know who the hell jisung is, _was_.

for a fleeting moment, he considers trashing the gifts but he thinks about jisung. he thinks about nevertheless,  it’s a shame that jisung isn’t able to enjoy the warm colors with his own eyes.

he would have loved to know such attractive flowers and fragrant candles decorated his grave.

  
  
(“you’re so selfish, han jisung,” seungmin whispers in the air before he turns around and leaves the graveyard, mind fuzzy and floating in the clouds.)

  
  
_“don’t do that,” felix scolds him when his eyes notice jisung’s fingernails digging into the fabric over his wrist. the australian knew what was hidden underneath the fabric; he was aware of the countless of red lines inflicted on jisung’s wrist, as if they were carved decorations but he isn’t some pumpkin or paper._  
  
_it wasn’t long since he discovered it. when he did, it was an accident — he didn’t mean to look when jisung’s sleeves fell back and revealed what lurked underneath. it was just awful timing, but had he never discovered the awful secret itself, who knows how long jisung would be concealing his pain from them._  
  
_when felix sends him a warning expression, jisung only responds with a silent apologetic one and takes his hand away from his wrist. he watches jisung’s hands more often afterwards. jisung doesn’t inch his hand forward or dig his fingernails into his wrist the entire time he watches._

  
  
a few days after the funeral, chan visits jisung’s mother. just his mother.  
  
because it turns out -- after jisung died the weight was too much for both of them to bare and consequently created a bigger rift between them. although their divorce was only finalized a few days ago, jisung’s father had already moved out of the house where all of them used to live happily. left behind, jisung’s mother remained in the same house where all of jisung’s belongings sat.  
  
when chan arrives, he doesn’t expect to see felix standing outside the han’s residence porch.

he looks exhausted, but also anxious as his gaze flickers from his shoes to the doorbell on the wall. the boy is nearly squeals in surprise when chan calls out to him from the bottom of the steps, blinking in bewilderment when he realizes who it is.  
  
“h-hyung?” felix sputters, cheeks suddenly burning with a flustered rosy pink after being caught in front of the han household with an obvious dilemma in mind.  
  
chan smiles tiredly, silently assessing the younger australian’s condition.

as he anticipated, everything about felix looks defeated. a new thick line of purple outlined the bottom ring of his eyes and his skin not quite sickly, but paler than he remembers it to be. poor boy, to lose one of his best friends to splattering against the pavement, it only makes chan wonder just how much sleep the boy lost over the course of a week.  
  
“what’re you doing here, hyung?” felix asks, lightly kicking his feet forward as his version of an awkward fidget.  
  
“i should be asking you that,” chan chuckles dryly, “but since you asked, i was just … ah … going to ask his mom if i could have a picture of him. you know, for memory sake.”  
  
“oh … yeah,” felix agrees quietly, nodding his head, “i was going to do that too.”  
  
“i guess it would be good if we went together as each other’s support.”  
  
felix manages a small smile, shy and reminiscent of the boy chan met two years ago when he transferred into their school, not knowing a single word of korean. chan steps forward on the porch, glances at the boy from the corner of his eyes for confirmation and presses a finger against the doorbell.

inside, they hear it ring.

  
  
  
(they only take photos like they promise.  
  
in 30 minutes tops, chan and felix leave the han residence with quiet goodbyes and careful respects to jisung’s mother who they find sobbing over a portrait of her deceased child in the living room. a tense silence follows them from inside the residence to outside where the wind can cool the sweat rolling down their skin.  
  
“why did he die, hyung?” felix asks chan before they part ways. his eyes are red and glassy when he looks up at the older boy.  
  
in the face of mourning and grief, chan always finds himself at loss for words.  
  
he sighs softly, releases the small polaroid (of jisung doing two peace signs while closed-eye smiling into the camera) he stored in his jacket pocket and steps forward to give the skinnier boy a tight embrace. he hides the way his own breath hitches and how his eyes burn with tears he has kept to himself for so long.  
  
“i don’t know, felix,” he mumbles into felix’s shoulder, hoping he doesn’t hear the way his voice quakes when he speaks, “i don’t know.”)

  
  
  
_“i’m depressed,” jisung mumbles, head pressed face down on his chemistry textbook. seated across from him, seungmin and changbin exchange equally confused yet concerned glances between each other. when neither of them choose to say anything, jisung continues through a ramble, “i’m just really tired these days, like it’s so hard for me to get my ass off my bed most mornings. it’s probably why i’m late to school a lot more now. i just don’t see the point of going outside when my existence means nothing, you know? all i ever will be is a bother. why should i go out there and be a bother to everyone else, make them waste time by spending moments with me?” soon, jisung is sniffling to which he hastily begins to wipe his eyes feverishly with his sweater sleeves, “i’m so fucking lame.”_ __  
__  
_“hey, hey, dude,” changbin finally speaks, reaching his hand out to the younger boy. his eyes, usually sharp and void of visible emotion on most days, are soft and warm as he watches the boy shrink smaller into himself. the boy he always viewed as the sun is finally showing his looming shadows, is what changbin thinks this situation is like. “it’s okay, you’re okay.”_ __  
__  
_“we love you, hyung,” seungmin says quietly, reaching his hand out like changbin. he takes one of jisung’s hands in his and squeezes reassuringly, “you’re not a bother to us. you’re one of our best friends.”_ __  
__  
_“yeah, one of them,” jisung repeats with a hiccupping snap, “someday you guys will forget me and abandon me for other people. do you really think that we’ll be together forever?”_ __  
  
_perhaps it wasn’t the moment for either changbin or seungmin to admit that yes, he believed they’d be together for a long time past high school, if not forever. it was just a future they knew existed for them and their group of friends, jisung included. watching jisung now, as he cries into his sleeves, it was obvious that the concept of ‘friendships last forever’ doesn’t exist for him, and that he lived in the realm of abandonment and perpetual loneliness._

  
  
changbin gets into a fight with jisung’s old bullies the first day he finds the energy to return the school. they say “good riddance that hamster boy is dead and buried” in amused, hushed tones and suddenly changbin is uppercutting one of the boy’s jaws.  
  
by the time he was forcefully pulled off the boy and dragged to the office for the necessary consequences, bruises blossomed on his skin like tattoos and gashes bled like healing battle scars. he looked better than the boys -- sporting black eyes, busted noses and lips, and blood rolling down their double chins.  
  
had anyone asked him if he felt remorse for the brutal number he inflicted on the boys, he would have glared with sharp eyes and said with a sneer, “they fucking deserved it.”

  
  
  
hyunjin gets over it pretty quick and falls back into his regular old routine while everyone else continues to be affected.

sure, call him inhumane or heartless, but he recognizes that grieving for so long won’t do anything but bring more grief. as much as he hates to admit it, no matter how much they mourn and cry and pray, jisung won’t magically come back from the dead, especially when he’s already sealed six feet under.  
  
but just because he’s managed to brush past it with whatever strength he mustered doesn’t mean he’ll willingly turn a blind eye to his friends who are still in pain. it doesn’t mean that whenever he walks into a class or lunch hour he used to share with jisung, his eyes won’t flutter over to where jisung’s person sat and occupied. it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hear jisung’s boisterous laughter or excited ramblings in the hallway or in the walls of his own house sometimes. it doesn’t mean his mind won’t ponder what jisung is doing now up in the clouds and hopes that wherever his spirit is now that it’s finally in peace. it doesn’t mean that he’s forgotten jisung and everything he stood for.  
  
definitely not.

 

_“hyunjin, are you religious?” jisung asks him suddenly._

_“that’s hyunjin hyung to you, brat,” hyunjin snorts._

_“shut up, you’re only a few months older than me,” jisung huffs, “and answer the question!”_

_“alright, alright!” hyunjin laughs, tossing his pencil at the younger. he hums and ponders over the question, not even batting an eyelash over how odd the question is to hear from jisung, “i guess so. i’m not_ crazy _religious if that’s what you’re asking.”_

_“oh, no, i’m just asking …” jisung trails off, “do you think there’s a heaven?”_

_“maybe? i don’t know.”_

_“i hope so,” jisung says dreamily, “anywhere would be better than here.”_

 

 

 

“i saw him die, hyung!” jeongin shrieks, loud and shrill in the middle of the supermarket.

hyunjin initially took him out to shop for groceries as a stress reliever. the youngest has been cooped up in his bedroom for too long, mourning and sobbing over every little pain stricken memory. he realizes now that the decision might have been a mistake. he shouldn’t have underestimated jeongin’s sensitivity to the situation.

passing adults turn their heads towards them in mixed concern and irritation. mothers cover the ears of their children and kindly hush them when they begin to squeal too. at one of the cash registers, someone reports a disturbance in aisle 9. seeing security stomp their way towards them from the corner of his eye, hyunjin panics and hold jeongin by the arm.

“jeongin-ah --” hyunjin attempts to calm with a lost look, but jeongin shakes his head furiously and struggles to wrench himself from the other boy’s grasp.

“i held him _in my arms_ , hyung! i felt him die!” jeongin yells.

“is there a problem here?” one of the security guards demands gruffly once they surround the two boys.

“i--” hyunjin deflates when he glances between the tall officer’s stern stare and his best friend’s twisted expression, “i’m sorry. he’s -- our friend … died … and he’s in shock … um, i’ll take him outside, officers. sorry for the trouble.” the boy doesn’t give the security guard time to respond, pulling jeongin by the arm gently towards the exit of the supermarket without much of a struggle.

“hyung,” jeongin wheezes once they exit the supermarket, “i-i’m sorry -- i didn’t mean to get us kicked out. i’m sorry, hyung, i-i’m --”

“it’s fine, jeongin-ah,” hyunjin interrupts, sighing loudly and tiredly. he runs a hand through his coarse black hair and blinks back his tears. “you’re right. you saw him die. you were there to hold him. that’s not something you can just … _forget_ and easily get over. it’s my fault for bringing you out here when i know you’re hurting so badly … i’m sorry for being insensitive of your feelings.”

jeongin stares up at him, misty-eyed.

tentatively, he steps forward and wraps his arms around the older boy’s waist. he presses himself closer and smothers his face into his chest. against him, hyunjin feels the younger boy’s body quake and tremble, and it provokes him to return the sentimental embrace in order to steel him.

the breeze is cool and the sun beats down on them with warm rays. in the distance, a blanket of gray clouds are rolling in and hyunjin knows for a fact that it’s going to storm hard tonight.

how fitting.

 

  
it’s been two months.

who knows how badly rotted jisung’s body has become? nobody can stop the cycle of decomposition after all. at least he’s buried ceremoniously, freeing his body the burden of having his skin and decaying corpse picked and eaten by crows and maggots.  
  
call it sudden and uneventful, but jeongin suggests visiting jisung’s grave. together. the suggestion surfaces some awkward and uncomfortable tension between the remaining eight, but it was obvious that none of them were opposed to the idea as vocalized by changbin who says, “yeah, we definitely should. he’s probably lonely now since none of us came to visit him after the funeral.”

“i went,” minho mutters quietly, “but i couldn’t get out the car. i wasn’t prepared to see him … being buried. i ended up going home an hour after.”  
  
“i visited him once after his funeral, like a few days after or so,” seungmin admits sheepishly, smile a little too meek and small. hyunjin fixes them  with a soft look and mumbles to them that hey did good, that was good.  
  
“but the rest of us haven’t,” chan sighs, rubbing his face with his hands tiredly. his eyebags have become sadly more prominent over the past two months, insomnia plaguing him harder than before.  
  
“let’s go together,” jeongin suggests seriously, glancing at each and every one of them surrounding the table, “face it together. we all lost him, right? so let’s go through the moving on process together.”  
  
“he’d like that,” woojin murmurs sadly, “jisung would like that. moving on altogether.”  
  
“i’m in,” minho breathes for the first time since the topic was first brought up. everyone looks at him in worry, causing him to wrinkle his nose and blink, “what? come on. we can’t let him to think we’ve forgotten about him.”  
  
soon, everyone was talking to each other about the plans.

at first, it was an awkward and tense discussion, but eventually ended with a final plan consisting of a nice picnic in front of jisung’s grave, containing all of his favorite foods and items.

they’ll speak about how they miss him so much and hope he’s resting well, tell him that he’s done well and thank him for doing everything he could. tell him they didn’t blame him for killing himself, that maybe they didn’t try hard enough to keep him from hating himself as much as he ended up doing. and the way they’ll repent is by moving on, never forgetting about him and keeping photos to engrave his memory into their hearts.

and with a hearty cry, they’ll give him their goodbyes and thank him for being one of their bestest friends.

they’ll praise him for surviving as long as he did, because he deserved it.

 

  
_“hey guys?”_  
  
_“yeah?”_  
  
_“i love you guys. you’re my bestest friends. the best i could ever have.”_  
_  
“we love you too, jisungie.”_

**Author's Note:**

> contact me:
> 
> twitter: @gayjisungie  
> instagram: @jaeminwyd  
> discord: sal #0914
> 
> join skz cord on discord!: https://discord.gg/Yp8CrhD


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